Freaks and Geeks
by A Piece for Some Peace
Summary: Helga's world is upside down. Her dad's a mess, her mom's in the hospital, and Phoebe hates her, but somehow that football-headed blonde can make everything magically better for a freak like her.
1. Chapter 1

"Where are my cigarettes?" asked the senior, an older boy. Rolling her shoulders, Helga brushed him off. Who was this guy and why did she agree to leave that party with him? Her reasoning was blurry right now, especially under the glare of his hot temper.

"Where are they?" he demanded again. She didn't like how upset he was with her, as if she kept tabs on this guy's cigs at all times. He slammed a fist against the dashboard for her attention, the car swerving as he did so. She didn't like how hot things were getting. Helga opened the car door, the wind whistling outside in protest. In the late night, early morning darkness it was impossible for her to see the pavement. Beneath the car was black cement, absent of any distinguishable traits after the paint had been worn off after a great many years of use. Helga grabbed for her seatbelt, the blaring of the car's radio serving as an act of defiance.

"_What are you doing?"_ called the senior, more shocked than angry now.

"Leaving." Replied Helga casually. The teen's driving had slowed with distraction, and when Helga tumbled from her seat to the wet pavement she was able to control the damage done. Going from the road to the grassy ditch, Helga hissed at the scraping of her knees. Ahead the beat up sedan braked, its red lights illuminating the empty side streets. The guy must have reconsidered going back, for he sped off shortly after, leaving Helga to rot. She sighed; this was a definite low for her. Rising, she tried to spot street signs. She was in the suburbs, and there was no way she could walk home before her parents found out. Stumbling up the grassy slope, she sought out a payphone.

"What were you thinking?" hissed Phoebe.

"I don't know, I was just, god, if I wanted a lecture I'd have called my parents." Helga replied in a light manner. This wasn't a familiar scene, but then again, it wasn't as rare as either of them would like it to be.

"I can't do this again, I won't." Phoebe muttered mostly to herself.

"You shouldn't, and you won't have to."

"I wish that were true Helga, but I won't be hearing from you again, I know, unless you're about to be killed or worse by some drop out freak." Phoebe gripped the wheel tighter, her words high with emotions. Helga laughed, feeling Phoebe's worries to be a bit extreme.

"Don't worry, I can deal." Leaning back in her seat, Helga rested her eyes. It had been a long night. Phoebe did not say much else. When they pulled up to Helga's home, the same if not in need of some TLC all these years later, Phoebe turned to Helga.

"Helga, I really can't do this anymore."

"Alright, I get it, yeah, yeah, yeah. You have a life too."

"No, you don't, and really, this is it. I'm not going to be your chauffer again. The next time you call, I won't pick up the phone." There was a severity to Phoebe's tone that Helga knew to be very serious. At the time, Helga was too tired to fight, too tired to save her most precious friendship. She opened the door to her friend's parents' new car. So, instead of thinking of an impassioned speech, one that _he_, not that _he_ would ever have to be in this position, she simply said, "thanks," closing the door behind her. Helga would never know the tears that flowed from her friends eyes on the car ride home, and the remaining hours until dawn shed silently and undignified.

When Helga closed the door slowly behind her, she knew there was no need. It was all for show, but she didn't know for whom. Her dad had moved out a couple weeks ago and her mom was still in the hospital. Though her dad spoke of fixing up the place and moving back in, Helga had grown accustomed to the idea of him staying in his little bachelor pad for good. He was living where Arnold Shortman had once lived. It was a strange paradox, two guys who were both important to her in separate ways. Her mom said nothing of their home. Despite having knowledge of her husband's departure, Marion spoke as if he were still at home.

"Tell Bill that he should replenish our Funky Flakes, I know you adore that cereal." She had said to Helga as she left her hospital room yesterday morning. At the moment, it was Helga all alone in their spacious urban home, and for the time being she was there to stay until her mom was able to leave rehab and successfully find a new place to live and employment. Going to her dark room, Helga flopped on her bed, turning on her bedside light. Reaching bellow her bed, she grabbed for some pink stationary. Beside it was a fountain pen, a really nice one she had taken from the offices of Bob's Beepers long ago, back when all they sold were beepers. Flipping open the card, she prepared her pen.

"Arnold," she wrote, for she was rarely formal with him, "today I went to a party. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a party girl or something. Sid told me about it and what can I say? Sid knows all the good parties. I bet you don't have those where you are. I still-."

Halting her writing, Helga contemplated what she was to say next. Carrying on, doubt filled the page.

"I still think about you, obviously. This is what, my millionth letter? Maybe I should actually send this one this time?" Again, Helga ceased writing, this time for good. Crumpling the letter, she tossed it aside, and covered her eyes with the nook of her arm. She wondered how many letters she had written and tossed aside in this way. It was not that she did not have a journal, no, she would be writing in that one shortly. Each night, she would tell Arnold, her childhood crush all about her day. How she felt, her perspective on things. It was all because of a half-kept promise. When she, and most of PS. 118 plus quite a few others, had seen that Arnold found his parents, she was able be the supportive person she had always wanted to be for him. Before she left, she confessed to all her feelings and secret admiration. This time, she did not take her words back. To her surprise and delight, Arnold did not reject her, and she kissed him.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to miss you Helga." he said, his cheeks red from their short kiss. At the time Helga was so caught up in the moment she was in a daze.

"Yeah, me too." she agreed dreamily.

"Send me letters, okay?" He said, leaving her to rejoin his parents who were readying to enter the jungles of San Lorenzo once more.

"Yeah." She said. Arnold then left, going off to join his parents to aid them in their aid of foreign cultures and adventure. He was to stay as long as his parents stayed, but he was sure to talk to everyone that had helped him. It was his promise to everyone that one day, when his parents' work was finished, he would return with them. Not until she was leaving on the plane did Helga become familiar with the gravity of her promise.

"Wow Helga, you got it BAD." teased Gerald, who found the whole situation annoying. Helga, still caught up in the moment, was weak in her defenses.

"Shut up!" she finally shot back. Gerald laughed in return.

"You're going to write to him every day?" he asked mischievously, with emphasis on the words every day.

"What?" asked Helga.

"You agreed to writing to Arnold letters Helga." piped in Phoebe, who had been listening from her seat beside Helga.

"Oh, yeah, that. Of course not! I just said that stuff to make that football-head get over me." She said, lying through her teeth. Phoebe rolled her eyes, but Gerald, believing her story, shook his head and dropped the subject. So here Helga was, almost seven years later, writing to Arnold.

"This was the last one." Helga mumbled. Her eyes were on the letter on her floor. It was something she had said so many times before, but this time, she was keeping her promise. Across town, where Helga's father had been staying, there was quite a commotion.

"Grandpa!" cried Arnold, almost but not quite a grown man. There were tears in his grandfather's eyes. This visit was much unexpected.

"Short man!" he said, despite his grandson towering above him. Arnold's grandmother descended the stairs.

"What's all this noise?" she demanded, "Cat burglars? Little do the fools know: you can't out-cat the cat burglar queen!"

Arnold laughed in joy at the well-known eccentricities of his grandmother.

"Grandma!" he called to her. Adjusting her glasses, Arnold's grandmother eyed him from the landing of the stairs. Soon, she too was overcome with tears.

"Arnold!" She cried with all the love that time had not served to undo. Soon Arnold was in the arms of his grandparents, who pushed aside their questions with the oppressive emotion. Luggage taken from the stoop, taxi cab fare paid, he was ushered in for a very late dessert/early breakfast. Together they discussed his situation, and why he delighted them with his sudden visit. Once his story came to an end, and it was made clear that he would not be staying with them for good, just until his parents could find a home in the area; it was time for his grandparents to explain.

"Sorry short man, but your room isn't exactly your room anymore." said his grandfather. Arnold was perplexed, and as usual, the explanation was long drawn out, and the conversations of his grandparents were hard to follow.

"Well of course it is always yours." said his grandmother.

"Not right now." muttered his grandfather. After going round and round in this matter, finally Arnold was included in the conversation.

"I'm sorry Arnold, but we've rented out your room for the month." his grandfather confessed. Arnold was floored.

"You rented my room?" Although he could not blame them for it, Arnold was still hurt. Not one to dwell however, he quickly let it go.

"So I guess I'm going to have to stay in the hotel with my parents." He said, mulling over the idea. His grandmother shot up from her chair with surprising speed for someone her age and put one foot on the table.

"Not my grandson!" She declared. "This is a family of pioneers, and you, Arnold, in the spirit of Walt Whitman's mighty drums shall YAWP barbarically, camping out under the stars."

"So I'm going outside?" asked Arnold.

"Correct." answered his grandmother with a smile. She left him in search of a sleeping bag that Arnold guessed to be as ancient as Walt Whitman's poems, if not older. Unfortunately for Arnold, his grandparents did not grant him a full night of sleep. He was awoken to eat a big breakfast with all the old boarders and even some new faces. Come Monday, despite his protests, his grandfather decided he was to go to school and to school he would go. He was even granted a ride by his grandfather in the roaring beast of an old car that his grandfather drove. It was then that Arnold began his first day of high school, despite not being enrolled. Across campus from where he'd been dropped off, Helga was roaming the halls.

"Sid," she called, finding him leaning against lockers.

"Hey," he said, adjusting to look her. Beside him was Stinky and Iggy.

"Cool party last night." she said, looking to initiate conversation.

"Yeah, I told you." Sid said, rolling his eyes. Stinky stepped forward.

"You left early, where'd you go?" he asked.

"Yeah, that…" began Helga, she was cut off by some shouts. From down the hall she could see the approaching senior she'd left behind on Saturday. Her heart sank, but she was ready for the challenge.

"Dumb bitch, what, do you want to be killed?" The boy was less concerned about Helga than he was over his pride. Spotting her talking to Sid, Stinky, and Iggy, he was sure she was spreading unflattering stories that would bite him in the ass wherever he went. Rushing towards her, he had Helga backed up to a locker, his arm extending over for the proper effect. Helga puffed up her chest, unwilling to back down.

"What are you talking about?" asked Sid in less of a questioning manner and more of an irritated drawl.

"Back off." ordered Helga. With a shove she allowed herself more space, sending the senior back only about a foot. Only serving to enrage the senior, Helga kept a brave face as the boy stepped closer. Before he could say anything further, the senior thought better of it, and walked off. Helga let out the sigh she had been holding back.

"What was that?" Iggy asked. His expression was difficult to read under his dark circular sunglasses. Helga shook her head.

"Some loser I guess." The first bell rang through the halls, and the friends said their goodbyes. Walking to her class, Helga found Phoebe, who had her eyes fixed to a flier stapled to the wall. Approaching as close as she dared to her once best friend, she read the announcement over Phoebe's shoulder.

"Cheerleaders and water girls wanted!" It declared in a bold font. Helga could not suppress her disapproval.

"Aw, come on Pheebs." she whined, using the old nickname she'd given her friend. Phoebe spun around flustered.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Phoebe, using anger to hide her embarrassment.

"I'm just heading to class."

"Well why are you bothering me?" Phoebe asked abrasively, leaving Helga behind to get to class.

"I know why you're doing this, and it's stupid. He's a complete jerk to you Phoebe!" argued Helga. It was no use, for Phoebe had arrived at her classroom, closing the door behind her defiantly. When Helga had said "he" she meant Gerald Johanssen, football player and an old time friend of Arnold Shortman. Since Arnold had left, Helga had found Gerald to be too annoying to bother with. Phoebe on the other hand, still carried feelings for Gerald after all these years. Not feeling up for class so early, Helga decided that she deserved a coffee break. Going down the hall, she stopped, encountering a boy with a football shaped head.

"Excuse me," he asked, "but do you know where the library is?"

Helga's heart pounded, her blood ran cold, and a golden locket once held close shined a little brighter under a stack of clothes in Helga's room.

"Arnold?" she asked.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no doubt in Helga's mind: this was Arnold, the very boy she had obsessed over years ago. Even after all this time she still wrote him letters, letters that she never sent, but letters none the less. Arnold looked her over with confusion, and Helga's heart sank, fearing he did not remember her, his tormentor, all these years later.

"Helga?" he asked finally, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," she answered, "don't remember me football head?"

"You've changed." He answered lightly. She had used the nickname she had bestowed upon his oddly shaped head kindly, and Arnold even smiled at the memory. Standing akimbo, Helga eyed Arnold, and was taken aback with how little he had changed aside from the obvious effects of puberty. More than anything, Helga was relieved to see that he bore the same sympathetic demeanor that had drawn her to him in the first place. The reminiscing and catching up was cut short by a staff member calling out through the halls.

"What are you doing out in the halls?" he called to the pair, "The bells have rung."

"Ugh, Principal Wartz." groaned Helga.

"Principal Wartz? He's the principal here too?" asked Arnold, recalling the principal of his public elementary.

"Yes, some promotion or something. Look, we better go." Helga answered, turning to leave. No sooner had she done so before Principal Wartz caught up with her. He crossed his arms, looking down at Arnold and Helga dismissively. While Arnold eyed him with interest and amusement, Helga puffed up slightly, crossing her arms in return and carrying a defiant air.

"Not so fast there Ms. Pataki!" said Principal Wartz, though Helga had not moved, "What exactly are you doing out of class?"

"Leaving." She answered bluntly. Principal Wartz narrowed his eyes, turning to Arnold, who was watching the scene as if it were a play or a show.

"Well," Principal Wartz decided, "If you're so insistent about missing class, then maybe you'd prefer a little time in detention, your little boyfriend too."

Helga rolled her eyes, for this was a familiar occurrence. Arnold, who was not a student at the time, did not quite feel the same level of nihility for the situation.

"But sir, I-." interjected Arnold. Principal Wartz waved his hand dismissively.

"No buts, you're going to an hour of detention, I expect to see you in that room by the end of school." Principal Wartz ushered Helga to her correct classroom, much to her dismay. Looking over Arnold, Principal Wartz appeared to be thoroughly confused.

"What room is it that you are supposed to be in son?" he asked Arnold.

"None sir, I don't go here yet." Principal Wartz folded his arms. When Arnold looked him over, he realized that he in fact stood taller than Principal Wartz, but he still seemed so tall.

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard young man. What are you going to tell me next? You've just flown in from the tropics and are on some kind of secret mission? Get to class!" Arnold, seeing there was no reasoning with the principal, decided to pick a class and stick with it.

"Well, that's part right…" Arnold mumbled, finding a seat at the back of a classroom. When the room turned to face him uncomfortably, Arnold immediately took a seat. The teacher regarded him with suspicion, but carried on with the lesson. When the bell rang, Arnold went on to another class, then another. It was a full day of unnecessary classes, and in the end he even missed lunch in the fray. When the school day came to a close, he was exhausted. Because he was not an official part of the school, Arnold considered taking off.

"Not so fast young man." called Principal Wartz, clutching Arnold by the arm. Helga was at Principal Wartz's other side. Taking Arnold and Helga to a quiet room, Arnold found it was filled with rows of desks for students, and a teacher's desk up front. Mr. Wartz took his place at his desk, allowing Helga and Arnold to find a seat. There was another student present, sitting quietly with their hands folded. Groaning, Helga recognized them as a student of P.S. 118, one she deeply wished never to be left alone with.

"Great, all the students and this school and we're left with the resident psychopath." She muttered. With astounding hearing from the middle of the room, the student turned to her, glaring behind their glasses.

"That's Thaddeus to you!" he said crossly. Arnold, talking a seat by Helga looked at him with instant recognition.

"Curly?" asked Arnold, seeing the boy still wore his same red circular frames. Curly, sitting with his arms crossed and nose to the fluorescent lights, indignantly refused to acknowledge Arnold or Helga.

"He goes by Thaddeus now." Helga muttered, leaning into her desk. A pounding came at the front of the room.

"No talking!" ordered Principal Wartz. Helga pulled a book from her bag and began to read over it.

"What are you doing young lady?" asked Principal Wartz.

"Studying." she answered, keeping her eyes on her book.

"No reading in detention." He said.

"I can't study in school?" she asked, closing the book.

"Not in detention." He answered. "You're here to think about what you've done wrong."

Helga sighed, but didn't argue. Arnold watched the exchange, considering how Helga had changed. She was still the same combative person from what he had seen, but he was curious to see more. It had been so long since he had last seen her, but he had not forgotten her. All the years of torment, narrowing down to one kiss, it was very confounding. He wrote her letters, but the mailing system in San Lorenzo could be unreliable, so he supposed she had never received them. Seeing her now, he wondered if she still felt the same way. Time passes, and even though the hour of reflecting in detention was tedious, it too passed. The bell rang out, signaling its end, and Curly, or Thaddeus as he preferred to be called, leapt from his seat.

"I'm free!" he cried, "Free!"

Laughing all the way, he was a force to be reckoned with, and Principal Wartz was careful to dodge the boy, leaving the room in a hurry. Watching Thaddeus prance from the room, doing a pirouette through the door, Arnold was once again amazed how little things had changed.

"Freak." muttered Helga, following him out the door.

"Helga! Wait!" called Arnold. Helga turned, waiting for Arnold to meet up with her. "I was thinking if you were free, maybe we could catch up go eat somewhere or something."

"What do you think this is Arnoldo, a teenage afterschool special? I've got homework to do, and I can't waste my time with Football heads who gets me in trouble." She cried, marching off. Though her expression was grave, Arnold was smiling. Walking away, Helga felt like kicking herself for falling into the same pattern with Arnold after all these years. This was a new start, and she felt she blew it. Arnold did not feel quite the same way though. When Helga had helped him all those years ago in finding his parents, she had made her confessions, and no stone was left unturned.

"I just pretended to be mean to you football head!" she had said, "I don't hate you, I love you, and if I were nice to you then you would just think I was stupid."

Supposing this was same reasoning for her actions, Arnold knew he had nothing to fear. He would set her straight later though. In the meantime, he found his way to the school's office, and started the enrollment process. His parents would not need the stress of all the paperwork so soon. Across town, Helga had gone to visit her mother, Mariam Pataki, in the hospital. A nurse ushered her into the room on the second floor, where they kept the transfer patients.

"Oh Helga, you're such a good girl, coming to see your mother on a Monday." Helga swallowed; her mother sounded better, but better was such a relative term these days. The nurse excused herself, and Helga took a seat by her mother. This was her mother's third and final week in the hospital. It had been long known in the Pataki family that her mother drank more than she should, but one day her demons overtook her, and she passed out, falling into a coma induced by alcohol mixed with pain pills. Thankfully Helga's father, Bob Pataki had come home early enough to save her.

"Yeah, how you feeling mom?" asked Helga, smoothing the folds of her skirt.

"Good, good. You know, the doctor said I can go to treatment sooner than planned. There's this great rehab center and I'll be home soon sweetie." Helga grimaced at the promises, having heard them before. Regardless, she refused to mention them quite yet.

"So when are you going?" she asked, examining the flowers, now thoroughly wilted at her mother's bedside. Looking at her mother too long proved difficult for Helga these days.

"Thursday, but don't worry, I won't be too far, just a couple miles out of the city, they say it's good for recovery. This place is great Helga, and you can come visit me anytime, they have buses that go past there, and your father can drive you too." assured her mother, adjusting her glasses. There it was the gorilla in the room, Helga's father, who refused to see his wife until she showed signs of recovery. Neither Mariam nor Bob Pataki acknowledged their issues, and Helga was stuck in the middle. Helga stayed in the hospital with her mother for an hour, but her mother was still frail, and fell asleep after their conversation. Shutting the door quietly, Helga found a payphone, and called her father to have him pick her up. Her father, only a couple blocks away, was there in no time, pulling up in a new Volvo.

"Come on in Olga! Big news!" Not bothering to correct him, Helga sat down in the passenger side of the car. Bob Pataki drove off, heading to a fancy restaurant in celebration. Surprising Helga, he had already placed reservations for them. Eyeing a menu, Helga was more interested in the establishment's filet mignon than she was her father's big news. She was stirred from her examination of the day's special by her father setting down the menu with a resounding slap. The waiter that had come to take their drink orders appeared irritated, but only asked them for their requests.

"Two champagnes, the best you've got!" said Bob Pataki, an unwavering smile on his face.

"But dad, I'm not old enough to drink." Groaned Helga, thinking his dad must have had her sister's age mistaken for hers.

"No problem, today we're celebrating. You know Bob's Beepers?" Helga scowled, as if she had somehow forgotten her father's company of countless years. "Well forget it sweetie, from now on it's all cellphones. Cellphones are the future. I've been made an offer from a very important company. Do you hear that, daddy's rich!"

Helga smiled, and took a sip from the glass of water that had been on the table waiting for them. Reaching in his suitcase, her father revealed a small wrapped box, and placed it in front of her. Opening it without caution, Helga found a brick phone. It was quite new, even Lorenzo did not have something this nice.

"Thanks dad." She said. The waiter returned with their drinks, though Helga drank none, thinking of her mother. She spent the remainder of the evening hearing her father talk excitedly of the future. He returned her home around eleven, but declined her offer to stay at their house for the night, saying he had more things to carry out at work. Helga went to her desk, preparing to write a letter to Arnold. Stopping herself, Helga realized she had sworn off of it, and that it seemed senseless writing to him now. Instead, she penned a short poem, and then turned to the piles of work assigned to her from school.

Arnold too had a dinner in celebration. It was held at his grandparents' boarding house, and his parents were in attendance. His mother was a story teller, and it was Arnold and his father's job to back them up with anecdotes of their own. When dinner was through, Arnold excused himself for a walk through the neighborhood. Up and down the street, he recognized many faces, though they did not seem to do the same. All the old shops were there as well, and Arnold made a note to go visit them soon too. More and more, Arnold was relieved to find that so much was familiar to him. Little had changed after all this time. Coming to the edge of the neighborhood, Arnold stopped at a chain link fence with a notice sign posted on it.

"Notice of Proposed Land Use Action" it was titled. Behind it was now and empty lot, and according to the sign, it was to eventually become a high-rise condominium. Glancing over the property, Arnold recalled what originally stood there.

"Stoop Kid…" he sighed, resting his head upon the fence. He remembered how fearful Stoop Kid was of change, and how he had adored the stoop of the building, strange as it was to others. It was Stoop Kid's home, and now it was gone. Wishing Stoop Kid had moved on long before this, ascended all the stairs of the world, Arnold knew better.

"Monkeyman!" called out a man, and there, running down the street, was the man Arnold had come to know, the pseudo hero of his town. Stopping by Arnold, Monkeyman set his clenched fists at his hips.

"In need of some help good sir?" He asked Arnold. About to answer in the negative, Arnold then looked to Stoop Kid's abandoned home.

"What happened to Stoop Kid? I thought this neighborhood in Hillwood is a historic location that didn't allow construction?"

"Oh, yeah, he was a weird kid, Monkeyman. He had to move, Monkeyman." answered Monkeyman, still speaking as strangely as ever.

"But how were they able to tear it down? Aren't there laws against that? Where did Stoop Kid go?" Arnold asked. His years in San Lorenzo had only increased his compassion. Spending time with his parents, he was able to understand the importance of preserving history and nature. It was another reason he was upset at the loss of Stoop Kid's home. Monkeyman shook his head.

"Mayor Green said it was okay, and that kid moved, Monkeyman."

"Wait, Mayor Green, as in Mr. Green, the butcher and councilman?" asked Arnold, remembering him well. Monkeyman nodded, taking a few steps back on the sidewalk.

"Not everything's the same, but not much is different either Arnold, Monkeyman." answered Monkeyman. Reaching into his pocket, Monkeyman tossed Arnold a banana, and then spun around. Leaping from the pavement as if he were preparing to fly, Monkeyman darted off like a thief in the night. Folding his arms but wary of hurting his banana, Arnold thought things over. On the way home, Arnold looked to each building and person a second time, happy to be home.


	3. Chapter 3

**A quick note from me to you: **_Though this story starts out in high school, it is by no means a high school piece. I, like the majority of the population, thought high school sucked. It beats you down and drains you and oftentimes serves nasty food. These chapters are just the groundwork for what is to come, so what do you think that is? I'd love to hear what you think._

Placing his backpack on his desk, Arnold's mind was on everything but the lesson ahead of him. Schoolwork he could manage, avoiding being the high school pariah, he was not so sure. So far he had not been approached by anyone from his P.S. 118 days or otherwise at school. Even Helga had given him the cold shoulder. High school, Arnold was coming to find, was a far cry from the friendliness of elementary school. While living in South America, Arnold was taught through ordered textbooks and the scholars working with his parents in their free time. It was becoming apparent to Arnold that he would have to be the one to step out of his comfort zone and say hi if he were to ever break ground here.

After a week and two days of taking classes without being registered at the school, the papers had finally gone through and Arnold was now a student. In celebration, his grandmother, dressed like a wealthy English lord, parading about the kitchen that morning serving leg of lamb and other extravagant oddities for a Wednesday morning breakfast. His stomach grumbled in discontent recalling the bountiful meal that broke the fast of sleep.

Now, first class of the day, and Arnold found himself to be one of the few in the classroom early. Other students in the room busied themselves with books and electronics to conceal the obvious truth, they were alone, and maybe even in the cases of some, lonely. Scanning the room Arnold felt a bit superior, though erroneously, for he was alone too. Phoebe Heyerdahl sat at the front of the room, hiding behind a book, her expression was intimidating, and Arnold dared not to approach her. Making a note to approach her when she was not busy, Arnold remained determined. Spotting a former student of P.S. 118, Arnold made his approach in hopes of regaining a friend.

"Hey," Arnold paused, scanning the person's face and hoping he was correct in his assumptions, "Eugene?"

The boy, looking up, smiled. Relief washed over Arnold knowing he had been corrected.

"Arnold? Arnold Shortman? I thought that was you, I just wasn't sure." said Eugene, setting down his book.

In an unfortunate but typical display, Eugene had miscalculated the length of his desk while keeping his eyes on Arnold and had dropped his book over the edge. With a thud, the book titled "Lord of the Rings: The Complete Collection," landed upon Eugene's outstretched foot. Arnold winced, seeing the hardback with several hundred pages had crashed with precision on Eugene's toes that were solely protected with a sock and Birkenstock sandals.

"I'm okay." answered Eugene before the question could be asked.

"How long have you been back?" asked Eugene, retrieving his book from the floor.

With caution this time, Eugene set the book in his bag.

"About two weeks."

"So you were in San Lorenzo?" asked Eugene, who had aided Arnold in his trip to find his parents.

"Yeah, and other parts of South America too, they love to learn about the indigenous peoples and other cultures. It was fun, nothing like here though." said Arnold, thinking fondly of his times bonding with his parents and adventuring alongside them.

"So I guess you didn't go to high school? You're lucky!"

It was not Eugene who spoke, but another from P.S. 118, Rhonda Lloyd. Arms neatly at her sides, black hair straight as an arrow with only the chicest style from Paris, she was just as Arnold remembered her to be. Sizing Arnold up with impenetrable, she seemed to rule him worthy, and Arnold released a breath he had not remembered holding. Though he carried no feelings for her, she was a valuable friend to have.

"I thought you were at cheerleader tryouts, Rhonda." said Eugene.

A look of disgust washed over Rhonda at the apparently dreaded memory. Crossing her arms furiously, she let out a snarl too vicious for someone who tried to be so regal.

"As if! They proved too low for someone of the Lloyd family. It's a meet anyway, tryouts are in the afternoon. Besides, have you seen their uniform? Royal purple and traffic cone orange? I don't think so."

And though Rhonda spoke with pride, Arnold picked up on a bit of indignity and hurt in her voice. He would not be so bold as to say so though.

"But Rhonda," said Eugene a bit taken aback, "those are the school colors!"

Waving a hand, Rhonda dismissed his comment.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to finish my homework."

Rhonda sat two rows away from the front of class, and Arnold, regarding the time, decided he too should take his seat. Smiling one last time, he left Eugene and went to the teacher's desk in search for his assigned seat. Checking the list, he found he was diagonally across from Eugene one row behind him and upon closer inspection, next to Gerald Johanssen. Excitement did not even cover half of what Arnold felt once he realized his best friend would be so close. Though they had called and exchanged letters, it was hard to keep up, and contact became less frequent over time. Together in a class unofficially, Gerald did not seem to even notice him. Arnold realized this was probably because he had been too distracted to tell Gerald he had arrived. Today would change that, Arnold decided.

The first bell rang, and Arnold waited patiently at his seat, eyes on the door. First some girls filed in, quiet and mousy, then some guys looking half asleep. Behind them followed a flow of people, none of them Gerald.

"I'm so not ready for this test today," grumbled a boy entering the room. The girl he spoke to nodded and gave a light laugh in agreement. Arnold recognized her as Lila Sawyer, who he at one point "like liked" eons ago. He promised he would talk to her too. So many people to talk to, friendships to repair, things to figure out including his still hazy standing with Helga Pataki, friend and one time girlfriend. Helga too sauntered into the room after a few other students. When she passed Arnold waved. He saw her roll her eyes dramatically and heave a great sigh as she passed him quickly. Taking a seat behind Arnold, he heard her slam her book bag on the floor for show. Stinky, who sat beside her, was quick to ask her what was wrong. Arnold could not help but feel that was his place, but he knew that her display was just that, a well-orchestrated show. Some things never changed, especially when it came to Helga G. Pataki.

"Think there will be a sub?" asked one of last students to enter the room, his voice hopeful. Walking in step with him was Gerald, and Arnold turned his attention back to his approaching friend.

"Nah man, we aren't _that_ lucky." answered Gerald. He had come in with a group of three. One of them Arnold did not know well by the name of Chris Carlsberg, but the other was most definitely Harold, another P.S. 118er. Harold had the misfortune of sitting at the front of the room, which meant he was the one usually called on for answers. The student Arnold did not know sat in front of Arnold and Gerald, the row behind Arnold sat Helga and Stinky. Gerald took his seat, but before Arnold had a moment to speak, the Chris spoke up.

"Looks like all the druggies are here." He said to Gerald, seeing Sid was the last to walk in. Chris and Gerald laughed, paying no mind to the stares of weary onlookers and the pointed glares from those behind them. The teacher, a woman of her thirties, rushed in. Her name was Mrs. Hartmann, and Arnold found her to be both capable and kind in the short time he knew her. The class was beginning physics, and given what she had to work with, Arnold thought she did exceptionally well. There were very few experiments done in the classroom, if any, and it was all paperwork these days.

"Sorry class, I was busy running copies of the test. I have to go back and make more, so please study quietly while I run down the hall."

With the click of the door, loud chatter erupted in the room. Arnold rethought his earlier ideas of Mrs. Hartmann, but did not retract them quite yet.

"Gerald." Arnold finally said, cutting off Chris before he had a chance to speak. Harold was moving over from his seat near the front of the room.

"Yeah?" asked Gerald coolly, not recognizing Arnold immediately. Fully facing Arnold, it all clicked for Gerald.

"Aw, hey!" he said, this time with more warmth. They hands shot forward, fists meeting while their thumbs swirled in an almost forgotten secret handshake. A big smile was on each of their faces, memories and nostalgia taking over. Time was of the essence, and both were well aware they would not have the opportunity to say everything they wanted to say.

"What are you doing for lunch?" asked Gerald.

"Oh, this is really sweet," Helga scathingly cut in, "but it's not even eight yet, could you shut up? People are trying to sleep!"

"Yeah, like me…" muttered Sid, his face tucked into his folded arms. His comment was directed at Helga, by far the loudest in the room.

"What's your problem?" asked Gerald.

Arnold remained quiet, waiting to see Helga's next move. There was no time however as Mrs. Hartman had returned, stack of papers in hand. A collective groan rose from the class in anticipation of a test first thing in the morning. With a stern look, Mrs. Hartman made the class go silent, which Arnold found to be impressive for a high school teacher.

"Because I feel bad for being so distracted," she said, "I will go easy when correcting your homework tonight, does that sound fair?"

No one answered her verbally, choosing instead to pass their homework forward with a little too much malice directed at the much hated paper. When Mrs. Hartman had collected all the papers, she smiled.

"Alright then, pens and pencils out, everything else away." she instructed.

With a loud collective shuffling mixed with hushed complaints, the room of students straightened themselves out quickly. Row by row, Mrs. Hartman passed out the test. The room drew silent, each anticipating the oncoming storm of questions. When Arnold received his, he almost laughed in relief. It was the basics, at least what he thought of as the basics. Having parents like his meant meeting an assortment of people, including the occasional physicist. Going through the test at an almost lightning speed, he was distracted by Eugene's whispering. He was speaking to Chris, who had been poking him in his side.

"Stop!" he begged.

Arnold could not bring his attention back to the test, angered at the way Chris was treating Eugene. Beside Arnold, Gerald spoke up.

"Shut it." he said, not to Chris, but to Eugene.

Arnold felt a wave of disappointment.

"Fag." he heard Chris say.

Looking to Mrs. Hartman, Arnold saw her looking at him.

"Eyes down on your own test Mr. Shortman." she instructed.

So there would be no intervention on the part of the teacher then. Arnold did as he was told, lowering his head, but still thinking of Eugene. He heard Eugene make a pained sound, still being harassed by Chris. Arnold was confused; he wondered what Chris Carlsberg's issue was with Eugene and why Gerald was doing nothing to stop it. More importantly, Arnold thought, why was he doing nothing about it? He wondered when he had become such a coward. His thoughts and test taking was cut short by the sharp screeching of a chair. Behind him Helga came stomping forward. She grabbed Chris by his collar, not an easy task considering his size. All eyes were on her.

"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, shaking him slightly.

Chris was by no means frightened. If anything, Arnold thought he looked angry.

"Leave Eugene alone." she said, her grip tight on the boy's collar.

"What's wrong with _you_?" he countered, shoving her away from him.

Helga collided into some occupied desks, nearly knocking them over along with those seated at them. At this Arnold stood, unable to stand by any longer. Gerald too was up, though his intentions were unclear. Arnold offered out his hand to Helga to help her right herself. His moment of glory as a knight in shining armor was seized by Mrs. Hartman, who had found her way to their side of the room with much difficulty.

"Sit down Mr. Shortman, you too Mr. Johanssen." she instructed, though Arnold did not comply. "Mr. Carlsberg, Ms. Pataki, to the office, now."

"But I didn't do anything!" complained Chris.

Rolling her eyes, Helga briskly passed Chris, unafraid to send a sharp elbow his way as she went. Though this did nothing for her case of innocence, she took satisfaction in it. Unable to retaliate, Chris looked to Mrs. Hartman for support. When none came he stared at her dumbfounded.

"Go." she said, her voice as close to a yell as appropriate.

Reluctantly, Chris obliged. With a stern look, Mrs. Hartman had both Arnold and Gerald in their seats. Without a word, Mrs. Hartman returned to the front of the room, order restored. When class came to an end, Mrs. Hartman rushed to the office. Arnold did not see Helga again that day, even at lunch. Gerald did approach Arnold though, Chris in tow, at lunch asking if he would still like to join them in going out.

"No thanks," said Arnold, doing his best to hide his disdain for Chris and admittedly, even for Gerald.

Looking around the cafeteria, the choice was obvious for Arnold when it came to deciding where to go. He took up a spot next to Eugene, tray in hand.

"Is this spot open?" he asked.

It was, and the next day too, and the day after that, and the months that would come. In the meantime, Arnold played catch up with those he knew before at the table. Sheena, Brainy, Curly, Nadine, and even Torvald sat at the table. Arnold would later find that this would be the table he felt most comfortable at. The rest of the day passed with relative ease for Arnold, none of the classes having the drama of first period's fight. When Arnold went home, he had many stories to tell as his grandmother prepared dinner, sushi, in kabuki makeup.

After school, it was cheerleading tryouts. In a long row of girls, Phoebe knew right away she had no place in being at cheerleading tryouts. It was not because she was not blond, thin, and perfect, but that the girls that stood in line with her were a whole different type of person. Many of these girls were gymnasts, having some experience doing flips and were very strong. Everyone knew each other, for this seemed like the next logical step for them as girls who had either been in drill team through middle school or had private dance lessons. Phoebe, who had tried out on a limb, had done none of these things. Now that she stood before the varsity cheerleaders in the gymnasium, she very much began to regret her choice.

"Alright girls, today is the day." Spoke head cheerleader, a girl named Connie.

Beside her was Lila, one of the best of the varsity girls. Holding a clipboard, she looked to the girls with her usual bright smile and carried herself with grace; it was clear who was in charge of things between the two girls.

"Thank you ever so much for making tryouts." said Lila warmly to the hopefuls. "Whether you make it or not, just know we're happy you came here today and put so much effort in during practices."

Phoebe's thoughts drew to a standstill. There were practices?

"We're going to start off with the first routine to warm up, then the more advance number we've been working on, and after that we'll move into individual evaluations." explained Connie.

The girls started moving into formation, a formation Phoebe did not recognize.

"Don't worry girls, remember, you've done this many times before in practice. You've got this, now have fun." said Lila.

Connie and Lila stood before the girls leading them in the motions the girls were supposed to know. It was almost as if Phoebe's nightmares had come true. Looking down, she confirmed she had not gone to school in her underwear and that this was not a dream. It was horrifying. The other girls were in sync and working in coordinated motions with very few slip ups. Phoebe found it hard to mimic them when suddenly she would find them changing direction or splitting off to do special flips. It was both a relief and a disaster when the first routine came to an end, and the second routine began.

"Good job girls." Shouted Connie, hardly fazed by the workout.

The second routine was a blur, running girls assembling into lines, jumping on cue almost perfectly. Caught in the dust, Phoebe did her best to run after the girls, mimicking them as best she could. It was a sad display, reminiscent of the disastrous school play in middle school when she had memorized not only her parts, but the other parts as well, which turned the play into a one woman show. Here she was now, the only girl to the left of the mats set out for practice, not because she had overachieved, but because she had underestimated. It was an unusual situation for her, and feeling defeated and lost, she could only fake her way until the end of the routine. Phoebe was gasping for breath, her lungs crying abuse. It was a lost cause, a train wreck, and Phoebe knew it. There was no going back now though, she had come too far.

"Okay, Phoebe, you're with me for individual tryouts." said Lila, still carrying a spring to her step.

Reluctantly, Phoebe followed. In front of her Lila led her to a mat set aside in the corner, her clipboard covered in doodles and tiny notes too far away for Phoebe to read. When they came to a stop, Lila had Phoebe align with her so that they were face to face.

"Alright, now before we break into any of the moves you're expected to know, is there anything you'd like to show me? Something that would make you stand out but still add to the team?" asked Lila.

Considering the question, Phoebe dug deep for ideas. There was nothing, but there would be no telling Lila this, the girl so positive she could be mistaken for a proton. Thinking back to every cheerleading movie she had seen, which numbered in few and far between, Phoebe attempted the first she could recall, a big mistake.

"Forward flip!" she called, as if announcing it would make the move successful. Forward she went, but her arm proved unable to bear her weight, however meager, and to her chagrin, Phoebe crashed face first into the mat. To her horror, Phoebe carried the distinct taste of blood in her mouth. With her tongue she felt along her teeth, finding none missing.

"Phoebe! Are you okay?" asked Lila, rushing forward.

The eyes of every girl in the gym were on her. Heat washed over Phoebe's face and hot tears threatened to fall. Accepting Lila's help up, Phoebe kept calm as best she could have out of pride.

"I don't think I'll do anymore Lila." said Phoebe, officially ripped from all hope.

"Oh, okay, well, thank you ever so much for trying out." said Lila, understanding Phoebe's desperation and want to leave. "You know, there are other things aside from cheerleading that help the school teams."

"Like what?" asked Phoebe.

"Well," Lila desperately thought up an answer, "you could bring water to the players."

"A water-girl?" asked Phoebe, knowing fully well how less glamorous the position was.

"Yes! They're really important." Seeing that Phoebe was not convinced, Lila backed off. "You think about it, alright?"

"Alright." answered Phoebe.

Taking her bag, Phoebe hoped no one was still watching. Leaving the gym, Phoebe held back tears at her situation knowing that tears brought nothing. Exiting the building, Phoebe saw the last person she wanted to deal with at the moment. Sitting on the big cement steps before the school's entrance was Helga. As much as Phoebe wished there was a way to bypass her and forgo any embarrassment, she knew this was where her mom had decided to pick her up. Head held high and tears held back, she walked as proudly as one could past Helga.

"Hey Pheebs." said Helga from her seat on the steps.

"Oh, hey Helga." said Phoebe turning around as if she had not seen her in the first place.

An awkward silence followed. Neither knew quite what to say to the other. Looking down the flight of steps, Phoebe noticed neither her mother nor her father was waiting for her. If she were to descend the steps she would only stand around waiting, making it obvious that she was avoiding Helga. It was a rude gesture, but Phoebe was not in the mood to consider Helga's feelings when her own were so overwhelming. About to leave, Helga started the conversation up again.

"How'd tryouts go?" asked Helga.

Ah, the dreaded question, the one Phoebe would have to dodge from everyone she told. Pulling her book bag close to her chest, Phoebe calculated the best answer that would give the least away.

"It was alright," she shrugged, "they thought I would do better helping out the team, bringing them water and everything. It's tougher than it looks."

"You're going to be a water-girl?" asked Helga skeptically.

"What's wrong with that? Too good for you and your stoner friends?" snapped Phoebe.

Helga waved her hand dismissively, knowing Phoebe well enough to know the difference between Phoebe being defensive and Phoebe trying to be hurtful.

"Not at all." she said. "I just thought you wanted to be a cheerleader for reasons beyond my comprehension- and my friends aren't all stoners."

"Right, well, things don't always go the way you want them too." said Phoebe bitterly.

Taking a seat beside Helga, she heaved a sigh and crossed her arms. Carefully she set her book bag before her, making sure it did not spill over and down the stairs. Helga knew precisely what was called for in these sorts of situations. It had not been all that long ago when they were close.

"Don't worry about them Pheebs," she said, not specifying who "them" referred to, "you'll be the best water-girl they've ever had, and then they'll have to take you in as a cheerleader."

"You think so?" asked Phoebe, sufficiently comforted.

"Yes, I know so." answered Helga, feeling it a clichéd response but true.

Together they sat in silence, ten minutes passed, then twenty. Both Helga and Phoebe waited their much late parents. A thought occurred to Phoebe.

"Were you waiting for me?" she asked.

Helga laughed, making Phoebe feel dumb for asking.

"I wish! I was in the office with principal Wartz who wanted a parent-teacher conference, but my mom was busy and my dad said he would come, but he must have been busy too, because he never showed up." she said, her laughter killed with contemplation.

"That sucks." said Phoebe, sympathizing with her once friend.

"Yeah, well, what can you do? I only have to do one Saturday school."

Helga toyed with her bag, her mind off in another world; a world Phoebe doubted she was still a part of. Looking over her friend, Phoebe saw her friend's forlorn expression. Timidly, Phoebe placed a hand on her old friend's back.

"Helga, why are you throwing your life away?"

Helga looked at Phoebe, her gaze carrying a withering look. There were many things Helga could have said, things that were hurtful, things that were poignant, but nothing would help her former friend know what was going on right now. It was doubtful that Phoebe ever had problems like Helga had, and from what Helga had seen over the years, her parents were always supportive, always there for their daughter. It made Helga feel jealous and all the more distant. Phoebe, who did not comprehend Helga's feelings of offense, only watched as Helga walked down the steps of the school, stopping at the curb, waiting for one of her parents to show.


End file.
